Sam should have made his brother stay in bed at the motel. He had been throwing up half the night. But Dean claimed he was good. And Sam was tired, and mourning Jessica, and he let it go. If Dean wanted to be a stupid jerk, Sam wasn't going to stop him. Besides, they were hunting goblins. It was basically a pest removal job.

In the middle of cleaning the group out, Sam saw Dean drop. Mid-swing. He just fell, hard and fast. His machete dinged as it hit the floor. The goblins stopped and stared at his brother's crumpled form for a moment; their faces ugly…uglier…when surprised. Sam blinked through the yellow blood splattered on his face and stared too.

That didn't last long. Sam had five goblins to kill and one unconscious brother to protect. Those little green suckers were dead in a minute. After he beheaded the last one, that's when the worry hit.

"DEAN!" Sam knelt beside him on the sticky floor. He patted his brother's shoulder. "Dean?"

His eyelashes fluttered. "Sam?" His voice sounded raspy.

Sam heaved a relieved sigh. "You alright? You fainted, man."

"Yeah…okay…goblins?" Dean asked looking pale. His freckles stood out like black dots on his face.

"Dead." Sam pulled him to his feet. Dean felt surprisingly thin beneath his layers. Sam looked him over. Actually, now that Sam was thinking about it, Dean looked kind of bony. Sam never remembered a time before this when his brother fit that description. He frowned. Dean swayed on his feet. "Whoa. Let me help you." Dean tried to shrug Sam off. But Sam gripped his brother tighter. "Come on. Let's get outta here."

Dean grunted, but he let Sam help him to the car.

His brother got into the hotel room on his own power. "Shower." Dean mumbled. He fumbled off his jacket and trudged into the room. Moments later, Sam heard him retching into the toilet.

Sam knocked. "Dean? You alright?"

Dean cursed. Sam heard shuffling. His brother cursed again. Then Sam heard him sigh.

"Hey, Sam." Dean paused. "Uhh…I can't get up."

Worry fluttered in Sam's gut again. He opened the door to find Dean sprawled on the floor, leaning against the toilet in his boxers and his faded t-shirt. His under clothes hung loose on his frame. Sam gasped. His brother looked like a damn waif. His skin was wan. His shoulder blade was prominent. Sam was certain that if he lifted up Dean's shirt he'd be able to count his ribs. What the hell? Sam glowered at him. He closed the lid of the toilet and helped his brother up to sit on it. He tried to be gentle with him. It was difficult. He wanted to throttle the jackass.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam said.

"Oh." Dean pulled on his shirt and motioned to his body. "Oh…um…it's just cancer."

"Cancer…" Sam said dumbly.

"Yeah, college boy, cancer. Don't worry, dude. I'm on my last course of treatment. I set it up all outpatient." He added proudly.

Sam stared at him. "What?" He couldn't think of one thing to say to that. "What?" He said again. Then thought rushed in shocking and cold like ice water. Sam should have seen something was wrong with his brother. But he was still so messed up over Jessica, still so pissed at Dad for being gone, still so exasperated at Dean for following the man blindly, that he didn't. None of that was a good enough excuse, though, thinking back over the last few weeks.

Since Christmas, Dean kept disappearing on Wednesdays – every Wednesday, regardless of which town they were in. Dean had had food poisoning more than once lately too. Food poisoning…yeah right. Sam had been too lost in his own misery to think much on it. Damn his stubborn brother. In hindsight, it was so obvious he was sick. Sam sighed. Maybe Dean had been waiting for Sam to catch on. He stared down at him. Dean fidgeted under the scrutiny.

"We gonna stay in here all night, Sam, or you gonna help me to the bed?" Dean tugged on Sam's shirt. "There's some anti-nausea pills in my bag. Grab 'em for me." His brother sounded bossy as opposed to sick, but his eyes were weary. Sam wanted to kill him. Or hug him and keep him safe. One of those things. Maybe both. His brother's lips turned down. "Don't look at me like that, Sam. I'm on the last course of the treatment. Haven't even lost my hair this time."

Sam blinked at him. Something about that phrase pricked at his mind. "What the hell do you mean this time?" His voice came out shaky and angry.

Dean shrugged. "Got diagnosed about a year after you left for Stanford. Beat the hell out of it then, too."

Sam really, really wanted to shake Dean senseless. He could wait though. He'd nurse the stubborn bastard back to health. Then he'd beat the shit out of him.

"You've been going on hunts like this, Dean. You need to rest. You should be taking it easy." Sam said.

"No." A frustrated expression filled his face. "Look, Sammy, it keeps my mind off being a sick son of a bitch. Hunting's the only thing that kept me sane the last time. Besides, like I said, I'm on the last course of chemo."

And here Sam thought he couldn't get any more pissed at their father. "Dad let you hunt like this?"

"It's wasn't like that, Sam." And Dean sounded so tired, Sam almost let what he said next go. Dean continued. "He was doing his own thing."

Sam might kill the man when they found him. His cheeks flushed. He bit back a snarl. "He left you alone?" Sam grabbed his brother's chin and forced him to look at him. "Did he know? Dean. Did. He. Know."

"He called me like every other day. And he only sent me easy hunts, stuff I could handle with my eyes closed. He knew it helped me get through it." Dean wriggled out of his grip.

Sam wanted to argue. Curse their dad out. But his brother's eyes shone with misery. He needed to believe their father cared. Sometimes, Sam didn't know what the man was thinking. Their dad always had some messed up priorities. Hell, maybe John really believed leaving Dean alone while he was sick was for the best.

His brother cleared his throat. "That's why I've been finding us simple hunts lately – like the goblins…" He sounded ashamed. "If you want to take on some heavier stuff, we can split…"

"I'm not leaving you, man." Sam pulled him to standing. He maneuvered his brother back to the bed and piled the covers on top of him. He tucked him in, smoothing his hair from his forehead, and sat down on the opposite bed.

"Hey, Sammy…" Dean's words were rough and cracked from under the comforters. "Thanks…" He said awkwardly. "But you don't have to take care of me."

"Like hell I do." Sam cut in. "And your welcome. You're not going through this alone." Sam turned off the light. "And I'm going to the doctor's with you next week. And if he and I decide you need a vacation; then you and me, we're taking a vacation, got it?"

Dean snorted. "Whatever. You're a bossy bitch, you know that." Dean said from his bed.

"I'm going to take care of you. Period." Sam said. And he meant it.